100 Moments
by Dreaming Knightess
Summary: Collection of FE9/10 drabbles/stories done for the Fire Emblem 100 challenge. Update: Theme 46 It Doesn't Stop and 26 Triangle Attack.
1. 28 Long Haired, Sword Wielding Beauty

**Theme**: Long-Haired Sword-Wielding Beauty

**Disclaimer**: The characters are not mine. Fire Emblem is not mine. Nintendo is not mine.

**Characters**: Elincia, Lucia, Mia, Mist, Sigrun, Titania, Zihark

Elincia's grip on Amiti was slack and unsure, but the people she saw around her reassured her.

Far off in the distance, Mia's violet hair bounced energetically as Mia herself happily engaged her opponents in battle.

High in the sky, Sigrun gracefully dove in toward an opponent, teal hair trying to rip free of its bonds.

Mist's reddish hair blew peacefully in the wind as she gently, almost sorrowfully, delivered a finishing blow.

Titania's thick scarlet braid whipped angrily around as she diligently sliced at a mage to protect her comrades.

Zihark's silvery blue hair flashed in the sunlight even as his sword glimmered silver before plunging into an opponent and becoming ruby red.

And Lucia, dear Lucia, who suffered so much at Crimea's expense, _her_ expense, whose bright blue hair had been cut short because of her—even Lucia's shortened cerulean hair still fluttered elegantly with her poised, deliberate movements.

And so Elincia tightened her grip on Amiti, braced herself on her Pegasus, and dashed into battle, emerald hair streaming around her face as she fought to protect her people, her country, her _friends_.


	2. 38 Sleep

**Theme:** Sleep

**Disclaimer:** Fire Emblem is not mine.

**Characters/pairings**: Astrid/Makalov, Boyd/Mist, Haar/Jill, Ilyana/food/men, Mia/Rhys, Naesala/Leanne, Kyza, Lyre, Ranulf, Shinon, Rolf, voyeuristic!Volke

Often times, Haar was not sleeping, but only pretended to sleep. People would do a great many things in front of the unconscious, he discovered.

One of the most frequent occurrences he saw was a gentle, concerned Astrid supporting a drunk Makalov back to his tent, paying off a his debtor even as the inebriated Makalov demanded another game of dice.

Often, he saw Boyd helping Mist with her chores, carrying a basket of clothes, hauling around a bag of flour, learning how to darn socks. Haar saw how much Boyd cared for her when he gave a vial of Spirit Dust the night before a battle against Daein, and how much Mist cared for Boyd when she gently touched his arm here, brushed shoulders with him there.

Once, in the Grann Desert, he had seen Naesala give Leanne a flower found only in the Serenes forest, a flower that he must have flown hours to get. She simply cooed to him in the ancient language and stammered "I-I thank y-you, Naesala." He looked away. She continued, "I s-see heart, a-and sorrow. Let m-me help."

Many times he saw Ilyana fool a poor man into giving her food to satisfy her incessant hunger. One adorable whimper and one flash of leg later, the victim (usually Gatrie) was smitten and Ilyana was (temporarily) satiated.

Haar loved it when Kyza and Lyre accosted Ranulf, who tried frantically to avoid handing out favors. They demanded his attention, and his love, and all he wanted was to flee. As sick and twisted as it was, this was a source of daily amusement for Haar.

Some time ago, he had caught Shinon tutoring Rolf in archery, as gentle and patient with Rolf and he was brusque and rude to everyone else. Rolf clearly adored and loved Shinon, and even Haar could see that Shinon enjoyed being called "Uncle Shinon".

One of Haar's favorite sights was that of Rhys clumsily and reluctantly handling a sword, with an energetic but unusually gentle Mia tutoring him. She would change his grip, correct his stance, any excuse to touch Rhys and Rhys would blush bright red the entire time.

But his favorite sight of all was that of Jill seeing him "sleeping" on the ground, and retrieving a blanket to wrap him up in. He loved the concern in her eyes, the way her scarlet ponytail would fall over her shoulder to brush him when she leaned over.

Volke watched the sleeping man and the red-haired wyvern rider from the shadows and scoffed. _He_ did not need the guise of sleeping to watch people. He did not sleep. He watched.


	3. 39 Mage

**Theme**: Mage

**Disclaimer**: None of this is mine.

**Characters**: Voyeuristic!Volke, Ike, Bastian, Ilyana, Soren, Pelleas, Tormod, Nephenee, Calil, Sanaki, Oliver

Volke observed others. It was his job to, that is what Ike and Bastian paid him to do while he traveled with them. Of all the people he had seen, one group of people stood out from the others.

Mages, Volke decided, were strange, strange creatures.

His employer, Bastian, was a prime example. The man spoke as if he lived in a play, and accosted poor Lucia daily.

One night, Ilyana had stolen Soren's lamb shank, accosted Zihark for more food, and then attempted to eat Mia's foot.

Soren, while Ilyana was busily munching his food, was staring moodily off into space, occasionally breaking his meditation in order to snap at some offensive bystander who had invaded his territory.

Pelleas, on the other hand, was Soren's perfect counterpart, meekly apologizing to anybody whom he thought he had offended with his presence.

Tormod, meanwhile, was admonishing Rolf for growing taller than him.

Calil, having a nice break from Tormod pestering her to teach him magic, was off bragging about her beauty and trying to teach Nephenee how to speak. Why she was doing this, even Volke could not tell because in _his_ opinion, Nephenee spoke just fine.

Sanaki was probably the most normal of them all, Volke decided, even if she was a thirteen-year-old ruler of the largest country in Tellius, and treated Naesala like a personal mount.

All of them combined, however, could not match the Duke Tanas, Oliver, for his strangeness. All of the herons had long since learned to flee the area when they heard his mammoth footsteps coming, and he even cowed Micaiah a little with his enthusiasm for her silvery hair.

"Good morn, man of the shadows, thief of the night! What news have thee for me?" Bastian greeted Volke, interrupting his reverie.

"You keep company with strange, strange people," Volke commented simply, before slinking away.


	4. 19 Those Who Inherit the Blood of a Drag

**Theme**: Those Who Inherit the Blood of a Dragon

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing

**Characters**: Pelleas, Almedha, Micaiah

Pelleas began to have his doubts when he found out that Almedha was Kurth's sister, and that she used to be a dragon. How could he, meek little Pelleas, have inherited the blood of such strong, ferocious dragons? Moreover, how could he have inherited the blood of Ashnard _and_ a dragon, and remained a weak little princeling, so easily fooled into signing a blood pact?

He reasoned with himself, "Well, Ena is a dragon, and she is gentle." But when he saw Ena's strength, he knew deep in his heart that he was not the prince of Daein. He was some easily manipulated little orphan, and would always be.

He told Micaiah this after the battle with Ashera. "I am not Ashnard's true heir. I am not strong enough to truly be dragon-blooded. You should have the throne."

She smiled at him and grasped his hand tenderly. "Strength comes from decisions made for the sake of others," she told him wisely. "It has nothing to do with your family."

And so when Pelleas confronted Almedha, he gave her one last hug, and told her "See General Ike, and his tactician, Soren."


	5. 69 Smile

**Theme**: Smile

**Disclaimer**: Do not own

**Characters**: Ranulf/Lethe

In Ranulf's opinion, Lethe was _too_ much like a cat, even reverted in beorc form.

He caught her contentedly basking in the sun one day. "Y'know, Lethe, I was thinking." He stood over her so as to block out the sun.

One of her violet eyes opened in irritation before she turned her back to him, rolling back to where the sun could warm her. "That's new," she replied, well, cattily.

Ranulf again moved to block her sunlight, grinning as she let out an audible hiss of annoyance. "Now that we've fought this war, you know a lot more about beorc."

Lethe had rolled onto her stomach, and was stretching, bum in the air, back arched, and hands stretched all the way out in front of her. In Ranulf's opinion, it was adorable. "Well, yes, Ranulf, you have _always_ been _so_ observant," she yawned, rolling onto her back again, into the sun.

For a third time, Ranulf moved to cast his shadow over her face, and this time she batted at his leg with her left hand. "You should act more like a beorc, I think."

At this, Lethe sat up, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Why would I want to act useless?"

Ranulf sat down next to her. "First off, beorc aren't useless and you know it. Secondly, I meant that you should show more beorc emotions. Act less like a cat."

"Stop wasting my time, Ranulf, I act just fine," Lethe retorted, absently batting at Ranulf's swishing tail.

Ranulf yanked his tail away and gave her a pointed look.

"Well, okay, but aside from playing with your tail, I act like any other…beorc."

Ranulf began to run his fingers through Lethe's hair, brushing her ears and making her purr. He gave her another pointed look, and she blushed. "There, that's better," Ranulf said, smirking. "Cats don't blush."

"Mrawr, beorc emotions are weak," Lethe muttered, scowling at Ranulf.

Ranulf only quirked the corner of his mouth into a lopsided smirk before leaning in and kissing her on the mouth. Lethe's mouth dropped open and she flushed an even brighter scarlet. Ranulf looked very satisfied with himself. "Cats don't feel embarrassed," he pointed out.

"Stop it, Ranulf," Lethe grumbled, cheeks still hot.

He happily pushed her over and began to tickle her mercilessly. Lethe squirmed rather ungracefully and squealed with laughter. When Ranulf saw that Lethe was having trouble breathing, he stopped and murmured softly in her ear, "Cats don't smile either. They miss out on the best part of being beorc."

He rose, and left her in the sun again, undignified, panting, and thoroughly human.


	6. 17 Big Brother, Little Sister

**Theme 17**: Big Brother and Little Sister

**Disclaimer**: These people are Fire Emblems

**Characters**: Marcia, Makalov

Marcia remembered the last time that she had looked up to Makalov. She was five, and her older brother had just stolen an apple from the neighbor's orchard for her.

"Wow, thanks, Mak!" she exclaimed, taking Makalov's offering with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

That had been thirteen years ago, and Marcia mournfully knew that there hadn't been a time since then that she had looked up to him. In the present moment, she was chasing down her wayward brother and haranguing him about his gambling problem. Again.

"Makalov, you chowder head!" she screeched, finding him guardedly trying to hide behind the kitchens of Castle Melior. "I just paid off the local book keeper. _Again_. I _told_ you to stop!"

"Of course, sis," the knight said weakly, looking furtive.

"_What_ do you have behind your back, onion-breath?!" Marcia demanded, fists planted firmly on her hips. Her cheeks were flushed from anger, and were almost the same shade of pink as her short hair. "Are you stealing from the kitchens? Elincia feeds us Royal Knights for free!"

Makalov only gave her a desperate smile. "Marcia, I—"

"Show me _now_!" Marcia bellowed, advancing on her older brother.

The knight pulled a shiny red apple from behind his back. "For you, Marcia," he said, holding it out as a peace offering.

The Pegasus knight stopped short, not knowing what to say. "Did—did you steal that?" she asked finally, relaxing.

Seeing Marcia's shoulders loosen, Makalov knew that he was off the hook and gave her a grin. "You didn't seem to mind last time," he said, placing it in Marcia's hand and squeezing her in a brief, one-armed hug.

The girl allowed herself a small, but genuine smile before playfully asking her brother, "So, do you have that money you owe me?"

Immediately, the arm slid from around her shoulders and Makalov tried to slink away. "In a week's time, I promise," he pledged, walking quickly around the corner.

Marcia only snorted in disbelief, but contentedly took a bite out of her apple.


	7. 27 Heavy

**Theme 27**: Heavy

**Disclaimer**: I wish Naesala were mine, but he's Nintendo's

**Characters**: Naesala

**Inspirational Quote: **Tibarn: "How about the secret of how you suddenly became first in line to succeed the throne of Kilvas?"

Naesala had never expected to become king of Kilvas. Not even close. He was about twenty-third in line, after all. So he lived his life happily as a petty thief, a pirate preying on beorc ships. He enjoyed shiny things, not much for their value, but more for their eye-catching twinkles. The freedom he experienced as he wheeled in the skies kept his spirits up and his heart light, even if he would never rule Kilvas.

But the epidemic hit, and people began dying. First to go were the king's three sons. Then the king's seven first cousins. And so on.

Naesala grew increasingly uneasy as he rose higher and higher in line for the throne. He gave up piracy, and tried to lead a straighter life, avoiding the Kilvas taverns and brothels. He only wanted the best for his country, and it would not do if other nations saw that a potential heir to the Kilvas throne was a vagabond.

The epidemic had struck Kilvas for the hundredth day: he was third in line now, with only his older brother between him and the king, and his brother was growing sick. Naesala felt the weight upon his wings growing heavier and heavier each day, until it almost hurt him to fly. And miraculously, the epidemic ended, sparing the king, but not Naesala's older brother.

If Naesala had had time, he would have paid his respects to his brother in peace, but his newfound royalty forced him into the limelight at court. He accepted this burden with poise and a troubled heart, and donned black for a month as his only visible sign of mourning. By all means, Naesala _should_ have enjoyed his new, princely lifestyle: the abundance of shiny things, the luxurious décor, the rich food. But he missed the easy freedom he had when he didn't have to worry about inheriting the throne, and how light he used to feel when he could soar burden-free through the open skies.

The king summoned Naesala soon after Naesala had become prince. "Naesala, you will become king one day," he stated simply, gazing out the window.

"I can't wait for all the burdens of this country to fall onto my wings," Naesala replied sarcastically. Deep down, Naesala was uneasy, knowing that he was not ready to carry Kilvas on his back yet.

Wordlessly, the king rolled up his sleeve of his robe, revealing a swirling, intricate design that marred the pale skin on his inner forearm.

The raven prince felt the air leave his lungs. "Who—is the other party in this contract?" he asked faintly.

"Begnion," the king replied, voice heavy with tears. "I only wanted some money to make Kilvas better," he whispered by way of explanation. The true weight of responsibility finally settled into Naesala's heart.

The next day, the king of Kilvas threw himself off the tallest tower in castle. By the time the king was found, the blood pact mark had etched itself onto Naesala's forearm.

Naesala donned his black mourning clothes again, making sure the sleeves were long enough to cover the mark.


	8. 5 The Critical Moment

**Theme 5**: The Critical Moment

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine.

**Characters**: You'll see.

Making no sound, the cat slunk through the grass, eyes intent on its target.

The target's brown fur rustled slightly in the breeze, and the target itself twitched peacefully.

For a moment, everything was perfect. Time froze as the cat prepared herself.

Ears perked. Claws out. Muscles tensed. Legs ready to spring. Breathing slow, but heart beating fast with anticipation. Aware of everything: the harsh rays of the desert sun, the prickly weeds beneath her paw pads, the prey's soft breathing. Aware of all her surroundings, but totally focused on the target.

The hunter sprang into action, leaping onto the target with one, swift movement.

The prey gave a small yip of pain, jolting into alertness because _something_ had attacked his tail and woken him up from his nap. Volug jumped up, whipped his tail out of the cat's reach, and growled threateningly at her.

With lightning-quick speed, Lethe turned tail and fled, wearing a small, satisfied cat-grin. Volug considered chasing her for a moment, but decided to return to his midday nap.

Lethe glanced back over her shoulder as soon as she heard the growling cease. Smugly, she saw that Volug had returned to lazing in the sun. Canines: all bark and no bite. She knew it.


	9. 80 Prince

**Theme 80**: Prince

**Disclaimer**: Don't own

**Characters**: Soren, Pelleas

During battle-preparation meetings, Soren boldly commanded the attention of everybody, even hot-headed soldiers like Skrimir. During battle-preparation meetings, Pelleas's meek suggestions were overridden by his most trusted advisors, even Izuka.

When hiring the mercenaries, contractors always spoke to Soren, knowing that he always had the last say in what the mercenaries did. When addressing matters of state, soldiers always spoke to Izuka, not even bothering to spare a glance for Pelleas because they knew he held no real power.

But when Soren looked at the empty-bellied Talregan refugees, he turned to Ike and firmly said, "No, we will _not_ spare any more provisions for them. We cannot afford to lose more of our rations to these ungrateful peasants." Ike simply gave him a cold look, and disobeyed.

When Pelleas examined the hollow-eyed, stick-thin Daein refugees, he turned to Izuka and resolutely demanded, "We _will_ provide every single citizen with extra helpings of army provisions. We cannot afford to lose another Daein to Begnion's cruelty." Even Izuka bowed his head slightly and tottered off to deliver Pelleas's command.

Soren, the true prince, was only willing to die for Ike's sake. Pelleas, the false prince, was willing to die for all of Daein.


	10. 29 Battle Maiden

**Theme 29**: Battle Maiden

**Disclaimer:** Obviously not mine, otherwise this would be canon

**Characters**: Leanne, Naesala, Nealuchi

**A/N: **Sorry it's been so long since I updated, school has been terrible. I would sincerely like to thank all of the reviewers, you guys are awesome and encouraging!

The first word that Leanne had learned in the beorc tongue was "No." She clearly remembered when she first uttered the word to Nealuchi. They were flying through the sky and he was trying to teach her how to speak the modern tongue as he always did when she had free time. Leanne could sense Nealuchi's emotions suddenly jump from fondness to panic when the dragonriders appeared.

"Stay back!" he ordered her in her native tongue.

"No!" she replied firmly, fluttering right next to the raven to face the wyvern riders.

Nealuchi, momentarily distracted by her achievement, beamed at her as he used his laguz stone. "Very good! But stay back!" Much to her guardian's chagrin, Leanne disobeyed, darting here and there and singing her invigorating song whenever the warriors needed it. She grew to love the battle fever that rendered her wobbly and exhilarated at the same time.

Leanne's success with the word "no" sparked Nealuchi's enthusiasm and he bombarded her with words from the beorc vocabulary. Because she was a delicate princess, he insisted upon teaching her only delicate, princess-y words, and thus her second word was "love."

Surprisingly enough, the word "love" belonged on the battlefield as well. Leanne could feel it everywhere as her comrades fought to protect themselves, her, and each other.

Naesala was no exception to this rule. He stuck even more closely by her side than Nealuchi did. When he was around her in battle, the protective air around him grew chokingly thick, tinged with a hint of something else that Leanne could not quite place.

"Stay back!" the king ordered her, shielding her fragile body with his and glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was out of harm's way.

"No!" Leanne was beginning to grow annoyed at everybody telling her that. "Why? I c-can fight too!"

"You do not belong on the battlefield!" Naesala replied, choosing his words carefully and hiding the rest of his thoughts in his heart. _You should be away from all the scum here, all the people with blood on their hands, people like _me.

"I belong—where my f-friends are," Leanne stuttered haltingly.

"Then let me protect you." _So I can be close to you._

"Why?" Leanne asked, curiosity piqued at the sudden flare of unknown emotion in Naesala's heart.

"Because your family and friends would sorely miss you if you were gone," Naesala said. _Because I love you_. He finished off the last of the enemies surrounding them, and the protective air surrounding him left too, leaving only the warm emotion Leanne finally recognized as love.

The girl flew around to face the king, laying a soft hand on his forearm. "B-be careful," Leanne whispered. "I would miss you too."

Naesala smiled his first smile in months.


	11. 90 Rain

**Theme 90**: Rain

**Disclaimer**: You know the drill

**Characters:** Micaiah, Sothe

For three weeks, the fortune teller had appeared every night at the same tavern. She kept her appearance hidden under a maroon oilskin cloak, showing nothing but a pair of golden eyes. A twittering little bird fluttered into the tavern behind her. The first thing she noticed was a little boy with green hair and haunted eyes begging for food from the bartend. She pitied the boy and the destitution marking his body.

For three weeks, the thief had made a profit by picking the pockets of the men lined up to listen to the mysterious woman's fortunes. He pilfered money, jewelry, pocket watches, anything he could find. Finally able to buy food, his skeletal frame went from dangerously emaciated to merely too thin.

On the first day of the fourth week, the fortune teller's eyes glanced up from the palm of the hand she was examining to meet the thief's yellow eyes. Caught, he averted his eyes and withdrew his hand from a drunk man's pocket. He left, shivering as soon as the chill Daein air reached his poorly clad body. Glancing at the sky, the thief noticed the clouds growing denser and darker.

A few minutes later, the fortune teller had caught up with him in an alley, arrival marked by the quiet footsteps and the rustle of the bird's wings. "You must be cold, child," she said simply, removing her oilskin and handing it to the thief. She gently took his hand and examined his palm like she did to the men in the tavern. The bird chirped in approval: he was the one.

For a moment, the thief was awestruck by the fortune teller's beauty, her hair gleaming silver in the moonlight. He regained his senses and yanked his hand away. The oilskin was heavy and warm in his bony arms. "Why did you give me this? I don't want nothin' to bind me to you!" he said, scowling fiercely, but nevertheless donning the waterproof cloak to abate his shivering.

"It will rain. You'll catch ill if you do not stay dry," the silver-haired maiden commented before leaving.

Sothe followed.

The rain fell.


	12. 2 Battle Preparations

**Theme 2**: Departure Preparations/Battle Preparations/Ready for a Battle

**Disclaimer**: I do not own.

**Characters/Setting**: FE9, Ike, Soren, Titania, Boyd, Mist, Oscar, Shinon, Gatrie, Rolf

In the dawn's light, the axe cast an eerily long shadow on the grave. A woman's shadow blended into the axe's as she knelt at the base of Urvan. She bowed her head, scarlet braid heavy against her back, green eyes closed. Eventually, she opened her eyes and pulled out a can of polish for the axe. Her commander had always kept his weapons in pristine condition, and she would attend to his needs without fail even if he was gone.

* * *

Ike sat inside his room at Fort Gebal, wrapping his wrists in supportive bandages before strapping on his wrist guards. Soren stopped by to give his usual pre-battle briefing, gazing attentively at Ike the whole time. The young man nodded his approval as always, and Soren lingered for longer than necessary as always. The tactician left the room reluctantly, whispering a short prayer to any entity listening to keep his commander safe.

"Please keep him safe, he's my only family and Ineedhimpleasedon'ttakehimaway."

* * *

As much as Shinon hated it, he found solace in the company of others before a battle. Gatrie's inane chatter about women usually filled the quiet air of the room, but today he had gone to the smithy to buy a new lance. Rolf took Gatrie's place willingly, knowing his normally anti-social teacher's pre-battle quirk.

"…Uncle Shinon, please don't die," Rolf begged, fidgeting uneasily.

"Pfft," Shinon scoffed. "I don't need a runt like you to tell me what to do on the battlefield."

"It's just what I tell my brothers before battle," the boy explained, strapping on his quiver.

Shinon only sighed noisily and rolled his eyes. Only Rolf would have recognized the appreciative set of his shoulders.

* * *

Aimee was rather flustered when Gatrie besieged her.

"I'm the strongest man in this group! I can take the most hits, believe me, cutie."

"No! There's only one man for me, and his name is Ikey-poo!"

"You can call me whatever you like, just have dinner with me!" The familiar ritual of chasing a girl comforted Gatrie. Women never changed their response to him and perhaps the unharmed status of the mercenaries would never change either.

* * *

The team's healer nervously watched Mia complete her pre-battle exercises, wincing at the vigor with which she slashed at the target.

"Relax," the myrmidon commanded, noticing Rhys's uneasiness when she finally stopped.

"I just don't want you going into battle hurt," he explained, flushing. "I could never push myself that hard before a battle, I'd be exhausted and unable to defend myself and then I would be a burden to everyone."

With a clean _shink_, Mia slid her sword back into its sheath. "Oh, stop. You would never burden anyone, least of all me." She gave him an endearing grin, wrapping an arm around his thin shoulders. "We'll never win the battle with an attitude like that."

Despite the gravity of the situation ahead, a smile blossomed on Rhys's face.

* * *

Oscar finished packing the team's rations into the convoy with Boyd's help.

"What would you do without these amazingly capable muscles of mine?" Boyd joked, elbowing his older brother.

The knight smirked humorously. "Not drop the entire box of plates."

"Hey, that wasn't _my_ fault. A squirrel darted out in front of my feet," Boyd protested, crossing his arms.

"Those evil little beasties," Oscar agreed, ruffling Boyd's dark green hair. "Don't let any of them get you out on the battlefield, eh?"

"Of course not! They're everywhere, but I'll protect both me and you from them."

* * *

A young girl approached the grave. "I miss him too," Mist whispered, draping herself over Titania's kneeling figure.

The woman continued to silently and methodically clean the dirt from the axe. The cleric played with Titania's scarlet braid until the knight had finished her ministrations. After ending the ritual, Titania still showed no signs of moving from her position.

"Come on, we should go. The enemy won't wait for us," Mist reasoned, standing slowly. She dreaded battle, but she dreaded her friends dying without her even more.

"I suppose not," Titania said, armor clanking as she rose. Smiling gently, she took Mist's delicate hand in her callused ones and led her back to the base.

Urvan gleamed in the rising sun.

**A/N:** I thought this one turned out weirdly, but I can't really figure out why...Let me know if you can pinpoint it. Thanks for reading!


	13. 57 Money

**Theme 57**: Money

**Disclaimer**: Not mine

**Characters**: Astrid, Brom, Makalov, Marcia, Reyson, Soren, Volke

* * *

Makalov always needed money. No, not need, _wanted_. He did not understand that money was not important, he saw only the pack of cards being shuffled on the tabletop, heard only the clack of the dice as they tumbled out of his hands. Money made him happy.

* * *

Astrid never wanted money. She only saw the loveliness of people and that was enough. She grew up around so-called "beauty", and "beauty" was perfection. Perfection was containing herself so that her face didn't distort unattractively when she laughed, so that no tears smeared her pristine mask of make-up. "Beauty" to the nobles was perfection and "perfection" was self-control when passion was appropriate. Makalov was imperfect, was fallible, was the twisted face of laughter and the smudges left by tears. His flaws far outweighed his self-control, and for that Astrid loved him.

* * *

Marcia hated that she loved her brother. She hated that her brother loved the chink of coins, and wished that she wasn't duty-bound to help him. She knew too well the tangled webs that duty wove around its prey until it suffocated under the strain. She knew what it was like to betray her apostle and forever carry that stain on her reputation. Even though she wished it weren't so, her duty to her family was permanent.

* * *

The Greil Mercenaries were a family and acted dutifully to protect all its members. Soren could not understand family because he had never had one until Ike. He had only ever been insulted and hated, never praised nor loved. The Branded did not have family; they were the Parentless. When Soren first felt the Mercenaries' embrace, he was shocked to be so readily accepted. He had discovered a family and found a home.

* * *

Reyson no longer had a home or a family. His forest had been burned, and for the past twenty years he had sung only mournful dirges, his desolation and anger tangling together to form an ugly knot of winter in his chest. Now he had found Leanne, and she still smelled of the forest, of home. She was alive and they sang and theirhome returned. The knot in his chest eased as they stood together on the shrine in their home. Finally, the land was blooming again.

* * *

Returning to his home in the farmlands, Brom gladly noted that the war had not affected the coming of spring and that the fields were prospering under the gentle fingers of the spring sun. His people praised him and composed hymns to him, but he brushed it off casually. He was down-to-earth and could not understand abstract concepts like glory. The only abstract concept that he really understood was love, and that was because love was everywhere. He loved his daughters, his sons, his wife and his comrades, so he fought for them. He could take pride in what he did because he was driven by love.

* * *

"I need to speak to the Fireman," a Begnion senator nervously informed the barkeep.

Volke materialized from the shadows behind the man. "I'm here."

The man jumped and fiddled with his robes nervously. "Oh, uh, h-hello. I need—you see—there's this man. I love my fiancé, but my fiancé loves another man—and the wedding is in a week. I want—need—him dead, he must not besmirch my property," he stammered as quietly as he could.

"No."

"I am willing to pay anything."

"Money will not buy you her love," Volke murmured before disappearing.


	14. 36 Captured Princess

**Theme 36**: Captured Princess

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Please don't sue, I am poor.

**Characters/Setting**: FE9, Leanne, Naesala, Izuka, Nealuchi

Leanne awoke and her surroundings were absolutely filthy, a jump down from the airy cleanliness of Castle Phoenicis. Also, for some strange reason, there was a spinning wheel nestled in a pile of straw resting next to her. She glanced out of the single window of her cell, long golden hair falling outside the tall tower.

"Is she awake yet?" a thin and shrill voice asked eagerly from outside her cell.

A smoother voice replied, "I don't think so. She's quite the sleeping beauty."

The hatch on the cell door slid open and a pair of watery blue eyes glanced at her form gazing out the window. The door squealed open on its rusty hinges, and she quickly pulled her head and hair back from the window to face the newcomer and her cell's guard. The guard seemed familiar somehow…

A cackle escaped from the unfamiliar man's sneering mouth, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "What have we here?" the unsightly hunchback screeched.

Leanne discovered that she could not remove her eyes from the unpleasant wart on the apparition's nose. It was _enormous_. Not to mention the three short, stiff hairs sprouting from it. Ugh. "Who are you?" she questioned in the old tongue.

"Oh, never you mind, dearie. A gift for you." The ghoul pulled out a shiny red apple from his dusty robes and offered it to her. The light danced off the skin of the apple in a rather entrancing way. "I'll be on my way now, lots of potions to brew, have to test my new invention and see if those dratted creatures have responded yet…" Izuka tottered off, muttering to himself as always.

Leanne examined the apple. It was oddly appealing, and she _was_ fairly hungry. Delicately, she raised the fruit to her mouth—

The guard burst in, armor gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight. "Don't eat it!" he ordered in heavily accented ancient language, snatching it from her fingers and throwing it out of the window. "It's poisoned," he explained, voice striking a familiar chord in Leanne's memory.

"Who are you?" Leanne asked curiously, almost certain that she already knew the answer.

"I'll give you three guesses," the armored man replied, voice loaded with sarcasm.

Leanne smiled teasingly. "Is your name…Tibarn?"

Her savior scoffed, annoyance audible in his impatient sigh. "Try again, princess."

"Janaff?"

"You know, I'm really going to start to reconsider rescuing you if you keep confusing me with those oafs."

"Naesala?"

The raven pulled off his disguise. "You knew it was me all along, didn't you?"

The princess giggled and nodded happily. "Are we going to get out of here?"

The prince swept the princess off her feet, leaping out of the window. He let them fall through the air for a little longer than necessary just to make the princess shriek and cling to him tightly. Then, he opened glossy black wings, caught a draft and flew into the sunset.

"Wait, nestling!" Nealuchi called, ancient wings flapping desperately to catch up. "Leanne dropped her slipper!" The old raven brandished it in Naesala's face. Leave it to Nealuchi to ruin the perfect moment...

Sighing heavily, Naesala landed just long enough to slide the slipper back onto Leanne's foot (perfect fit, of course) before flying off into the sunset. Again.

The two lived happily ever after.


	15. 62 Unreachable Thoughts

**Theme 62**: Unreachable Thoughts

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Characters**: Lehran, Altina, unnamed child

**A/N:** Sorry, it's been forever. *hangs head in shame* I know this probably won't appease anybody, but…organic chemistry finals suck and drain all brain/writing power out of any and all living organisms?

He should have been happy. The entire kingdom was rejoicing. His _wife_ was absolutely radiant, despite her recent pain.

"Lehran, look at her!" Altina gasped, brow still covered with the sweat of childbirth. "She's lovely!" The light reflecting off the white silk sheets made her entire bed glow. Lehran stood just outside of its radiance.

Cooing half-heartedly at the infant, the new father fluttered his wings restlessly. His eyes struggled to filter out the brightness emanating from Altina, contorting his face into a frown. "She's…extraordinary," he mumbled blankly. _As extraordinary as I am now plain._

"Oh, isn't she?" Altina laughed, golden eyes shining in the light. The baby stirred restlessly, fine covering of purple hair brushing against Altina's cheek. "Oh, shh shh shh, little one. Rest peacefully, my darling. Will you sing her a lullaby, Lehran?" Altina whispered shyly, proffering their child.

The heron stepped further back into the shadows. "I do not think I'm capable, my sweet." He bowed his head solemnly.

Troubled, his wife grasped his arm, reaching from the sunlight into the shadows. "Lehran, what is the matter? Can't you see my happiness? _Our_ happiness?" Altina smiled at the baby, tickling its plump belly.

"Of course, my sweet, it's written all over your face." _But not your heart…I cannot read your thoughts._

The sunlight streaming through the window illuminated her bliss, but cast a shadow on his disgrace.


	16. 71 That Cute Child

**Theme**: That Cute Child

**Disclaimer**: As if I could fool you guys into thinking that that I owned all this…

**Characters**: Sanaki, Sephiran, Lekain, Valtome, Hetzel, Zelgius

**A/N:** For those of you with short attention spans, this story is kind of long for what I normally write.

Yawning widely, Sanaki laid her head down in her arms. The senators were _boring_ and she didn't _care_ about the taxes levied in the Flaguerre region. The head of the senate, Sephiran, noticing his ward's suffering, adjourned the senate early.

Sephiran easily scooped up the drowsy seven-year-old empress, carrying her to her chambers for a nap. Large golden eyes blinked heavily and stared at him mournfully. "Sephiran, why can't I go play with the rest of the girls? It's lonely and insufferable in there."

He bowed his head briefly in sorrow. She was so young to bear this burden…He glanced at the small child engulfed by her overlarge red robes and tried to plaster on a fake smile. "You're different from them, you'll make a big difference in people's lives one day."

The girl scowled petulantly. "You tell me that every time." Nevertheless, she curled up under her silk bed sheets. "Will you tell me a story?"

"Of course. I'll tell you about a girl who was a lot like you. Her name was Altina, and she was extremely important, just like you. In fact, I think you'll grow up to be a lot like her. Her story begins with—"

A knock interrupted him, and he frowned in concern. Sanaki frowned in annoyance. How dare someone interrupt her story time!

"Come in," Sephiran called. Zelgius poked his head in.

"Important news about the new king of Daein," he whispered.

Sephiran glanced guiltily at Sanaki, who merely pouted. "Sorry, little one, I must go." Gold eyes began to fill with tears, and the empress's pouting lips began to quaver. "But," he added hastily, "I have an early birthday present for you."

A pathetic sniffle was her only response. Even Zelgius, a hardened soldier, began to feel guilty. Sephiran withdrew a leather-bound book from within his robes, placing it in Sanaki's little hands.

"I-I hate reading," Sanaki hiccupped.

"Aaah, but you'll like it. In fact, it's about Altina, the girl I was going to tell you a story about," Sephiran reassured, patting the girl's head comfortingly. "She was your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother."

Sanaki eyed him with distrust, but flipped the book open anyway. Sephiran quietly slipped out of the room with Zelgius.

* * *

Strangely enough, when Sephiran returned from his meeting late at night, the empress was nowhere to be found. He checked all over the palace courtyard, the gardens, the kitchens, all of her favorite haunts, but she was nowhere to be found. Only after a servant informed him that she was in the library did he find her there, asleep with her head in book.

"What are you doing in here, little one? I thought you hated reading," he teased, picking her up.

"I'll make her proud and…I will fight…for the defenseless," Sanaki muttered indistinctly.

Sephiran could only raise his eyebrow in confusion.

* * *

The next day, Sanaki's demeanor during the daily senatorial meeting was totally changed. Despite the bags under her eyes telling of her late night in the library, she was alert and focused. She followed the debate with narrowed eyes.

"We must raise the taxes in Flaguerre to compensate for the lack of output," Lekain declared.

"Uwee hee hee, those stupid commoners. That will teach them to withhold their goods," Valtome added.

"No, we will not," Sanaki objected firmly. The entire senate, even Sephiran, stared at the little girl wearing robes too big for her. "What, are you all deaf? We will not raise taxes because the reason that there was so little produced last year was because there was a drought in that region. Furthermore, to place such a heavy burden on the commoners would break their backs, and without them, the foundation to our nation would be lost. We should ease their burden and halve their taxes so they can recover even stronger than they were before."

"Er…Apostle, maybe you should adjourn for the day and have a nap. You look tired. Let us senators handle everything," Hetzel suggested kindly.

Sanaki stamped her foot angrily. "No! You will listen to me or I will throw a tantrum!" All of the senators recoiled slightly. They were used to their _servants_ dealing with tantrums, not their highly esteemed selves. "No objections?" Silence. "Good, then the senate is adjourned for the day."

"What an insane child," Valtome muttered to Lekain.

"I heard that!" Sanaki screeched, storming over to the senator and delivering a series of angry kicks aimed at his shin. "I am the Apostle, and you will listen to me from now on!" She marched out of the room with her nose in the air.

Sephiran hurried to the library to see what Sanaki had fallen asleep over last night. He flipped to the front cover: _Taxation Patterns in Modern Begnion History and Their Effects on the Productivity of the Nation._ Goddess, what had gotten into the child?

* * *

He sought her out after lunch, following a servant's tip directing him to the Mainal Cathedral, where the national relics were held. There, he found her trying to lift Ragnell. He smiled at the sight of the empress trying to lift a sword taller than she was.

"Sanaki, what are you doing?" he asked. She was certainly behaving oddly today…

"I am going to make Altina proud to be my ancestor. I will rule the people justly and be remembered with love forever. I am going to grow up to be like Altina, and Altina used this very sword," she grunted. The girl struggled to lift the sword, face scrunched up in effort. "That's what your book said. You were right, I enjoyed it very much, Sephiran. I thank you."

Sephiran's heart twinged. At that very moment, Sanaki's determined expression reminded him so much of Altina, a vision of her ancestor mirrored in a more delicate, child-like figure. The girl managed to balance the sword upright for a split second before its weight caused it to clatter to the floor again. The angry red splotches on the empress's cheeks threatened to bloom into a spectacular temper tantrum.

Sephiran hurried over to the frustrated child and ran nimble fingers through her hair comfortingly. "Perhaps swords aren't your thing," he suggested as delicately as he could.

"No! I want to be like Altina, and she used _swords_." The empress stamped her slippered foot.

Sephiran desperately tried to avert the imminent tantrum. "Well, you can learn magic. Altina was terrible at magic. You can be good at something she wasn't good at, and I'm sure you'll be just as good a fighter as her someday."

The child considered this option, and deemed it acceptable with a petulant nod of her head. "Fine."

"Come, let's find you a magic tutor." He reconsidered this quickly. "Actually, no. We will have a _nap_ and _then_ we will find you a magic tutor."

"Altina did not take naps," Sanaki announced proudly. "And neither will I."

Knowingly, Sephiran hoisted the girl into his arms, cradling her gently. By the time he had reached her bedchambers, she was already snoring lightly.


	17. 99 Advent of Peace

**Theme 99**: Advent of Peace

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Nintendo's things. Nintendo does.

**Characters**: FE9 era, Jill, Mist, Lethe

Jill stared at the mutilated corpse of a squirrel. It was actually quite amazing that the animal was still in one piece. She prodded it with her foot. The nearly decapitated head lolled around sadly.

Quiet footsteps approached, but Jill was too horrified to acknowledge the newcomer. Mist peered over Jill's shoulder. "Ew, what is _that_?"

"Dead squirrel, I think. Someone keeps leaving dead animals in front of my tent. Fourth time this week. D'you suppose it's a death threat?"

The healer cocked her head to the side, eyes filled with curosity. She bent closer to the corpse, narrowing her eyes as she examined it. "Those look like claw marks."

"In truth, I think it's Lethe," Jill confessed. "She keeps making these funny faces at me whenever she passes, showing all her teeth at me." She tried to imitate the laguz's face, stretching her mouth painfully outwards to bare her teeth at Mist. An expression of worry quickly replaced the grimace. "I'm not sure what I did to offend her, we did shake hands…"

Understanding at last, Mist let out a small giggle. "Oh, Jill, she's not trying to _threaten_ you. She's trying to make friends. Our old cat used to bring me dead animals too. Maybe it's a cat laguz custom?

"And the frightening faces?"

"Jill, she's trying to smile at you. I don't think she's used to being friendly with beorc."

"Ooooh," Jill breathed, understanding at last.

The next morning, Lethe prowled out of her tent to find a dead raccoon with a lance pinning it to the ground. A slow smile escaped her lips. Perhaps this Jill wasn't so uncivilized after all.


	18. 65 Beard

**Theme 65**: Beard

**Disclaimer:** Don't own

**Characters**: Tibarn, Reyson, Janaff, pre-FE 9 era when Reyson was trying to act like Tibarn

The moment the Hawk King landed in the courtyard, all eyes immediately snapped to him. He always looked so…tousled (in the best of ways), especially after a long flight. Today, he looked especially manly: a fine stubble was covering his chin and jawbone, and his shirt was artfully torn open at the chest.

Almost no one noticed the paler, slimmer heron prince that gracefully hovered behind him.

"Looking good as usual, your Highness," Janaff commented playfully, snapping off a smart salute. "The facial hair is spectularly manly, really amplifies your presence."

Reyson cleared his throat meaningfully.

Janaff's attention barely wavered from admiring his king's stubble. "Oh, hello, Prince Reyson," he muttered, eyes never leaving Tibarn. "Now, as I was saying, the kingdom has been doing fantastically. Ulki hasn't heard any serious complaints, but the ravens are trespassing on our waters again…"

Tibarn listened intently to his vassal as Reyson huffed in annoyance and glided to his room. He was _so_ tired of being in the Hawk King's shadow.

* * *

For a few weeks, no one heard from the heron prince. He simply kept himself locked in his room, accepting minimal amounts of food. Tibarn wondered what his friend was doing, and after the third week, decided to investigate.

"Reyson?" Tibarn boomed, knocking on the door. "You should come out, there are fresh apricots in the kitchen. Your favorite!"

Silence.

Tibarn really, really hoped that Reyson wasn't doing anything…personal. "Reyson? I'm coming in!" he warned before ramming the door open with his shoulder and preparing to gouge his eyes out in case his friend _was_ doing something personal. He warily scanned the room for any signs of the heron prince.

Surprisingly, Reyson was perched in front of the mirror, gazing intently at his own chin. Tibarn stood next to him, peering intently into the mirror as well. After a few moments of awkward silence, Reyson sighed unhappily.

"Um, your complexion looks very clear today?" Tibarn offered, completely and utterly confused.

"Oh, Tibarn, how do you do it?" Reyson asked, tilting his head slightly to the left so he could examine the underside of his jaw.

"My complexion? Uh, not much really, it's not nearly as clear as yours…" Perhaps Reyson had gone mad with the recent loss of his family in the fire.

"Your face, I mean!" Reyson exclaimed, ripping himself away from the mirror and grabbing Tibarn's jaw with his soft hands. He ran his hands over the hairs that were just beginning to grow back after the king's morning shave. "The stubble! The commanding presence! How?"

Tibarn tried his best not to flee. "I don't really do anything, you know, I just—heh, it's genetic really, but I would give anything for a face as clear as yours, girls really avoided me during my fledgling years, I was quite the disaster. Facially, I mean, terrible complexion!"

Both men were now on the verge of hysterics.

"You're so manly, how do you do it?!"

"I don't really do anything, I really just sit there and it grows in really thick in a really short time!" Tibarn had just used the same word four times in one sentence. His mind had a sudden flash of clarity, and he managed to calm down for a second. He gently pried Reyson's hands from his jaw and took a deep breath. "Perhaps it has to do with diet?" he suggested.

The heron considered this. "Perhaps…" he mumbled, dropping his hands back down to his sides, calming down considerably. He sighed again, turning his face away from Tibarn. "I tried to grow a beard," he confessed. "You're just so much more _manly_ than me, and I just wanted to be more like you, Tibarn. Everyone respects you so much, and maybe if I were stronger, more like you, I could've stopped those beorc—those _humans_—from destroying my home."

Relieved that his friend hadn't gone mad, the hawk jovially slung his arm around Reyson's shoulder. The heron winced at the sudden weight, but bore it in hopes of becoming stronger.

Tibarn began to ramble on about his diet, convinced that that was the key to solving Reyson's frailty. "Oh, well, the key to being manly is all in the diet. Raw meat everyday, three meals a day…"


	19. 100 Wedding Ceremony

**Theme 100: **Wedding Ceremony

**Disclaimer:** …Own Fire Emblem I do not.

**Characters:** Geofffrey, Elincia, Mia, random decrepit priest

**A/N:** Sorry I suck at updating *hides*

Swallowing nervously, Geoffrey dismounted his white horse in view of the entire castle. His ceremonial white robes rustled softly as he approached the priest. He uttered a silent prayer to the goddess that he wouldn't do anything embarrassing. Why did royal weddings have to be so public?

Next to him, another figure clad in white stood: Elincia, looking stunning in her white gown. Hopefully, with her jaw clenched so tightly, no one would notice that her teeth were chattering with anxiety. What if Geoffrey _didn't actually like her _and_ rejected her _in front of_ everybody_?

The oldest, most decrepit and famously long-winded priest in Crimea cleared his throat loudly.

Sitting in the front row with the rest of the Greil Mercenaries, Mia thought she could hear every single gob of phlegm the priest had just cleared from his throat. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, uncrossed her legs and recrossed them again.

"Today, this beauteous and sunny twenty-second day of the month of August, we the citizens of Crimea, the young and the old, the clergy and the warriors, men and women alike gather to witness the most holy and lovely union of Queen Elincia Ridell Crimea to Sir Geoffrey Delbray…" The priest droned on and on.

If the priest didn't speak any faster, the four glasses of water that Geoffrey had before the ceremony was going to explode out of his bladder. That would be even more embarrassing than Elincia running away. In fact, that would probably _cause_ her to run away. Geoffrey turned red at the thought.

Elincia noticed the growing flush on her husband-to-be's face and grew even more apprehensive. He was going to say "I don't", and then she would have to do something drastic…like move out of the country and leave it in the hands of Kieran. She could _sense_ the growing impatience and restlessness of the audience.

Mia sighed as inconspicuously as she could and absently scanned the audience in boredom. Mist was hanging onto the priest's every word, Ike was just as restless as she was, and Boyd was nodding off. Typical. Suddenly, a man wearing white robes with a white horse standing behind him caught her eye…

"Does anyone in this harmonious audience oppose this most divine of unions?" the priest wheezed.

Mia sprang into action. "Yes!" She leapt from her seat and drew her sword, brandishing it excitedly at Geoffrey.

Geoffrey tried to turn around too quickly and therefore landed with a large _thump_ on his butt in front of the entire church. Needless to say, he was completely mortified.

"I challenge you to a duel, rival!" Mia declared, striking her favorite fighting pose. "Up with you now!"

For a moment, Elincia stared in horror. Then, she relaxed and helped Geoffrey up, hiding her grin of relief. In light of recent events, surely no one would remember if Geoffrey actually said "no".

While the audience suppressed their laughs and murmurs, Ike forcibly carried Mia back to her seat, and Elincia smiled for the first time since the ceremony began. For years to come, the Crimeans wondered why on earth their queen had been so amused that a _commoner_ had _ruined_ her wedding, but discarded notions of insanity simply because their queen was known to be a little eccentric.


	20. 60 LookAlike

**Theme 60: **Look-alike

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Fire Emblem, I'd be so rich that I would spend my days sunning myself at the most private of beaches. Alas, I'm broke, so I write fanfiction to amuse myself.

**Characters**: Obnoxious!Naesala, Reyson, Leanne

_Past, 20 years before the Serenes Massacre_

Naesala wasn't the most tactful of beings, choosing to amuse himself with sly remarks directed towards others. He eyed his favorite prey with a calculating eye before sauntering over.

"Leanne! It's nice to see you, and must I say, you look extremely feminine today. Exquisite."

The blonde heron turned around, face flushed in anger. "I am _not_ Leanne, and I am _not_ feminine!" Reyson bellowed, wings fluttering in irritation.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Reyson. I was looking for someone else," Naesala remarked, dodging Reyson's attempted punch easily. "I'll see you later."

Minutes later, Leanne heard a smooth voice call out "Reyson! Reyson!" Ignoring the calls, she continued to glide down the hallway towards her room until a strong hand gave a gentle tug on her sleeve.

"Reyson! Nice to see yo—oh, sorry, Leanne, I thought you were Reyson," Naesala said, smirking. "You two do look rather similar, what with your…" The raven paused to find the most appropriate word (and for dramatic effect) "…undeveloped figure."

Leanne simply gave him a benign smile and continued on her way. Naesala sighed: teasing Leanne about her looks was never as fun as teasing Reyson because she always gave that annoyingly _deliberate_ smile before gliding away.

_Present_

Reyson stonily eyed the unabashed Raven King lounging before him. "You _sold_ me to that fat tub of _lard_," he stated murderously.

Naesala lazily flicked a piece of hair away from his eyes. "And you found your sister for it. Although I guess now that there're two of you, I'll probably end up confusing you two again." Before Reyson could tackle him, Naesala quickly bounded into the air. "Where is she anyway?"

The other laguz ignored him, storming away in an angry cloud of feathers.

Naesala's lips curled into a playful grin as he spotted his other favorite target and he swooped down in front of her.

"Hi, Rey—" Naesala began, stopped dead, and tried very hard not to ogle Leanne's new curves.

She broke into that very same annoyingly deliberate smile. "You're not calling me Reyson?" she asked innocently in the old tongue.

"Erm, hello," Naesala started again, looking into the background very carefully. "No, there's no mistaking you for him anymore."


	21. 89 Heartbeat

**Theme 89**: Heartbeat

**Disclaimer**: I can't believe I have to write this out 100 times…I don't own

**Characters**: Aran, Laura

**A/N**: Er…I'm very very sorry for the long wait? *hides*

Quiet days with the Dawn Brigade were rare, and Aran decided to take advantage of this one by sitting near the medical tent and pondering about his rediscovered childhood friend. She really had grown to be quite beautiful…

A healer suddenly appeared from the tent, presumably for a breath of fresh air, and noticed him. "Is something the matter, Aran? You look very—brooding," Laura asked. She gave him an encouraging smile, kneeling down and looking directly into his eyes.

"I, um—er, i-it's nothing, Laura," the soldier stuttered, looking away and blushing.

Laura gently placed her hand on his forehead, noticing his flushed cheeks. "Are you running a fever? You've suddenly become quite flushed, you know."

At the physical contact, Aran began to sweat nervously. "I'm, I'm fine, really!"

"And you're sweating! You mustn't push yourself so hard in training!" Laura lectured, grabbing onto his forearm. "Come to the medical tent, you can rest there."

"N-no! You have…others to tend to!" Aran protested vehemently. The last thing he needed was the object of his affections to hover worriedly over him. He just wanted to be alone to think, for Ashera's sake!

"Oh, nonsense! It's so like you to be thinking of others while you yourself are ailing. It's quite sweet, really!"

"The beds are all full in there!" Aran tried desperately, yanking his arm out of her grip.

Laura glanced into the tent and quickly withdrew her head again. "You're right, the beds are full. You can rest in my bed!" She grabbed his hand and forcefully dragged him to her modest tent. "Oh, look, you're worsening! Your whole face is flushed and sweaty, I better tend to you right away!"

"It's nothing like _that_, Laura! Please!"

"Shush! You're becoming hysterical," the healer reprimanded, pushing him towards her bed. "Now lie down and tell me what's wrong!" she commanded firmly.

Aran wriggled uncomfortably on top of Laura's bedsheets. "There's nothing that you can fix!" he burst out.

She smiled quite angelically. "I'm sure I can, with the power of the Goddess to help me. Now lie still or I'll tie you down to the bed."

At the thought of this, Aran froze completely, blood draining from one part of his face to another region of his body. Laura took this opportunity to feel for his pulse.

"Just as I expected, your heartbeat is much faster than normal." She peered at his semi-mortified face. "I'm so glad we found each other again so I can look after you! You always help me, so now it's my turn to return the favor. Now will you tell me what's wrong so I can help you?"

Aran lunged upwards and planted a very forceful kiss on her mouth, seizing her face between his hands. He pulled away after a few moments to gauge her reaction.

Shocked, Laura placed a hand on her fire red cheeks. "Oh dear, I think I've caught ill as well."


	22. 47 Persuasion

**Theme 47:** Persuasion

**Disclaimer:** I don't own.

**Characters:** Calil, Largo, Amy

Oh, she had him cornered now, and she was going to wring his sorry neck until at least three vital organs oozed out of his slimy hide.

Well, metaphorically anyway. Calil would never dirty her perfect hands and resort to violence; it was too unladylike. Well, okay, maybe she occasionally indulged in a well-placed fire spell. But only when they deserved it. Such as now.

Her prey, despite being a foot taller than her, tried to shrink back even further into his shoulder pads.

"What did you _do_?" she hissed, an ominous wind rapidly flipping the pages of her open Elfire tome.

"Heh, relax, Calil," Largo boomed. "She's harmless, see?" He indicated a tiny child with maroon pigtails sitting in the next room.

"I cannot be a _mother_, _mothers_ aren't glamorous _or_ beautiful! They are commonplace, fashion-lacking _homemakers_!" she shrilled, eyes darting longingly down to her spell. Scarlet lips began to form the words written in the spellbook before Largo hastily stole the incantation from them with a kiss.

"You'll always be glamorous and beautiful, darling."

She sniffed, slightly placated (but only _slightly_). "Go on."

"I couldn't just leave her in the middle of the marketplace with no one to take care of her, and I figured that my kindhearted and gracious—not to mention beautiful—wife wouldn't want an innocent child to suffer," Largo continued.

She arched an eyebrow. "I can see right through you, you oaf."

A quiet knock interrupted the berserker's response. Maroon eyes peeked in, wide with curiosity. Both Calil and Largo turned to face the intruder, Calil with a death glare and Largo with a sigh of relief. The door creaked open slowly to reveal a dirty, ragged little girl who stood no taller than Calil's knees. She examined them both with glisteningly wide eyes. "Wow, are you my new mommy?" she breathed, rushing up to the fire mage. "You're_ beautiful._"

Largo chuckled slightly. "See, Amy thinks so too."

Calil crouched down to examine the little girl. Amy reached up a tiny finger and stroked a strand of golden hair. "Are you really my mommy now?" she asked in a small voice, afraid of the answer.

The mage smiled crookedly. "Well, I suppose so," she replied, trying not to wince when grubby hands enveloped her forearm in an enthusiastic hug.

Largo tried to escape the room, but froze solid when he heard his wife's next statement.

"Largo, every time I find a gray hair or a new wrinkle because of this, I will brand you with my very strongest fire spell."

**A/N:** Like? No like? Please stop writing about violently overreactive women? Let me know!


	23. 24 Wind

**Theme 24**: Wind

**Disclaimer**: Because I think I forgot to disclaim myself last chapter, I doubly don't own anything Nintendo owns

**Characters/Setting**: Jill, Haar, post-FE9, pre-FE10

Jill swung an armored leg over her wyvern. "I'll be back by sundown tomorrow," she informed her delivery service partner.

Haar nodded, and inspected her briefly. After releasing a sigh, he beckoned her closer. She obeyed, leaning down in her saddle as far as she could, her face inches away from his. He quickly pressed his lips to hers, withdrawing with a slight "hmm."

"What was that for?" Jill snapped at her former captain, trying to hide her blush.

Infuriatingly nonchalant, Haar placed a jar of lip balm in her palm. "I just wanted to see, and I was right: your lips are all chapped. Gets pretty windy on these delivery trips, I guess."

Her fingers unconsciously brushed her lips, and she winced. A crack in her upper lip was raw and bleeding slightly, but that was still no cause for concern. Perhaps he would mistake the giddy flush in her face for anger if she snarled at him enough. "I've been through worse. I'm a soldier, and one of the best wyvern riders in Tellius. A little bit of wind doesn't bother me," she growled defensively.

He patiently waited out her diatribe. "I know," he replied soothingly. "But I promised Shiharam that I would protect you from everything. Even from the wind." Before she could protest more, Haar gave her wyvern an encouraging slap on the rump and it disappeared into the sky as Jill bellowed angrily about how "grown women like her didn't need lazy bums like him to protect her from anything, _especially_ not trivial things like chapped lips, and when she came home she was going to show him exactly what she could do to protect herself from disrespectful, lecherous old men."

Nonetheless, ten minutes after she'd yelled herself hoarse, Jill twisted the cap off the jar, dipped her finger in, and spread the ointment liberally over her lips. _If he kisses me again, I wouldn't want my lips to be bleeding and raw,_ she wyvern rider blushed, and angrily thrust the jar into her pocket. _Not that I want him to kiss me ever again_. Still, the wind's fruitless assault against her lips felt milder now, more gentle, just a little bit like Haar's mouth.

**A/N**: I seem to have run out of rabid plot bunnies, so in a sad attempt to actually finish this challenge, I will be taking requests now (within reason of course; I will not be attempting any horrible, kinky stories involving Ike's abnormally long sword). *rethinks* Well, scratch that. Will accept anything from FE7-FE11 and attempt to complete in a timely fashion. The list of prompts is posted in my profile.


	24. 76 Comrade

Theme 76: Comrade

Characters: Edward, Ilyana

Disclaimer: Still don't own

The Dawn Brigade's growing fame generally inspired feelings of cheer in Edward. He was excited to think that his name was being spread all over Daein and usually glowed with unrestrained pride. But with growing fame came the danger of assassination, and paranoia was digging its dark claws into his cheerful heart.

He _knew_ that she had been following him since dinner time. It's not like the purple-haired mage was exactly subtle about it, either. She just simply tailed him around the campsite, from the mess hall to the blacksmith's tent to the training grounds, where the swordsman was currently hacking away at a straw dummy and pointedly pretending she didn't exist. She just watched him intently with her pale eyes, hovering silently at the edge of the training field.

This was ridiculous! She couldn't have weighed more than eighty pounds! She was short, she was pale, she was sickly-looking. In other words, she was completely non-intimidating, except for the strange rumbling noises she was currently emitting. Yet Edward found himself sweating not from his exercise, but from trepidation that she would suddenly pounce on him and the monster in her belly making those grumbling noises would burst out and consume him.

"Um…" She had spoken!

Edward whirled around, wondering if this was the end. She was approaching, just fifteen steps away…nine steps…Surely Nolan would stop her, right? His mentor couldn't just stand by and watch her burn him into a crisp?! But the axeman was determinedly slashing at another dummy ten yards away, and ignoring the pair of them.

"Who are you?!" he demanded of her when she was within stabbing range. He brandished his sword threateningly.

She looked at him nervously, halting her approach.

His sword faltered. How could he hurt someone with such a pitiable expression on her face? When he didn't make any further move to hurt her, she reached out towards his stomach…_Was she going to disembowel him with her bare hands in broad daylight?! In front of witnesses? _What a terrible assassin…but he had no more time to ponder her actions, as her fingers were clawing at his waist—

—and plucking a crumbling, lint-covered biscuit from his belt pouch. The biscuit disappeared into her mouth seconds later. "I'm hungry," she explained, eyes pleading. "Don't you have any more?"

Edward blinked, lowering his sword. "That's it? You aren't going to kill me?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Would you give me more food if I did?" Reaching for her spellbook, the mage wobbled unsteadily as her stomach emitted an earth-shaking growl.

Oh, so that's what that gruesome sound was. "Er, please don't? I think I have some more cookies in my tent, if you don't burn me to a crisp," he offered, hoping to bribe her into not killing him.

She smiled, and Edward found her to not be so intimidating after all. "I like sweets," she said. "I like it when my comrades give me sweets."

"Comrade?" the myrmidon asked, confused. He began to walk briskly towards his tent to retrieve the cookies.

The girl followed him like a pale shadow. "Yes…my name is Ilyana. The Dawn Brigade rescued my merchant caravan from a Daein prison."

He paused outside his tent, trying to remember whether or not this was true. He had been so successful in this battle…he had beaten five enemies by himself! He had killed their leader! He was gloriously reliving his battle with the leader until the growling from Ilyana's stomach spurred him into action again. The box of half-eaten cookies on his dresser was crawling with ants, but he shoved it into her hands anyway.

"Thank you, Edward." She gave him a grateful look, brushed the ants off the cookie and took an enormous bite.

"You aren't going to hurt me?" he confirmed warily.

Ilyana inhaled the rest of the cookie before giving him a puzzled look. "Well…you shouldn't hurt your comrades, right? Especially if they feed you."

The swordsman heaved a sigh of relief, releasing a sunny smile. "Right, and I'm your comrade. _And_ I fed you." At her forlorn look, he quickly added, "And as your comrade, I will _keep_ feeding you."

She looked pleased, but then again, what kind of person with a mouthful of ant-covered cookie could look _dis_pleased? In a show of great camaraderie (and self-restraint), she broke the last cookie in half, offering the larger half to Edward.

He laughed, taking into account the enormous growl of protest her stomach emitted. "No thanks, you can keep it."


	25. 30 Rival

**Theme 30:** Rival

**Characters**: Mia, Shinon, Gatrie

**Setting:** Post-FE9, Pre-FE10

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

An angular man with a scarlet ponytail lazed under a tree, carving a bow with skilled hands. He and his dozing friend sat in a peaceful silence until Shinon mentioned to his friend, "Some fanatical girl joined the Greil Mercenaries last year looking for men to beat to death."

Unfortunately, Gatrie's highly selective ears only caught the "girl looking for men" part and he perked up immediately. "What's her name?" he asked eagerly.

Releasing an apathetic sigh, the archer replied, "Mia."

Seconds later, the knight was gone, moving with speed unnatural to people dressed in heavy armor. The redhead watched his friend disappear, and scoffed. "Idiot, I bet he didn't even hear the 'beat to death' part."

Hours later, Shinon put the finishing touches on his bow, testing the flexibility. He grunted in satisfaction. The grunt became a snicker as his friend appeared and collapsed on the ground, covered in numerous bandages and bruises. "How'd it go?"

Gatrie had a lovestruck expression plastered on his face. "She was a beautiful goddess of the sword. She even told me that I could be her man of destiny if I came dressed in white and riding a horse on our next date."

Somehow, Shinon doubted that those were the girl's exact words, but decided to humor his romantically challenged friend. "You're going to go on another date?" he asked skeptically.

The knight painfully maneuvered himself onto his back. "Tomorrow, at dawn. Dawn is such a romantic time. We're going to exchange blows of love," he sighed happily.

_Dawn is such an _early_ time,_ Shinon thought wryly. "Did she ask for money?"

"My sword goddess wouldn't do something like that."

"Did she keep asking for food?"

"She feeds off the thrill of battle."

Shinon contemplated this for a moment. "…Well, it's an improvement on the last two girls."


	26. 46 It Doesn't Stop

**Theme 46:** It Doesn't Stop

**Characters/Settings**: Stefan, FE10

**Disclaimers:** Ah, Stefan, if only you were mine 3 Nintendo simply doesn't…appreciate you the way I do ;)

Violent sands whipped around the swordmaster's body, ingraining themselves in his clothes. Grains of it stuck painfully in his scalp and eyelashes. But then, Stefan supposed, that was the beautiful thing about the desert. She enveloped all of her victims in her gritty, vicious caress. She was out for blood (and she didn't give a damn what kind of mongrel blood you had, so long as it stained the earth ruby red).

Today, she was particularly brutal, creating an insurmountable, inescapable sheet of sand. But Stefan didn't care. This curtain of sand wrapping around him only comforted him, reminding him that _she_, unlike beorc and laguz and all the other petty, useless living things out there, administered a type of unstoppable justice to all.

In exchange for her reassuringly cruel stability, Stefan liked to quench her bloodthirsty desires. She protected him and his Branded colony from the outside, and so in exchange, he slaughtered ill-intentioned would-be conquerors who dared to disturb her sands with their clumsy feet.

He didn't have any enemy blood to offer this time, so he took a small knife and slashed open his palm. Crouching to the ground and curling his hand into a tight fist, he squeezed several scarlet drops onto the ground. She drank greedily, his offering disappearing within seconds. Unappeased, she continued to blast him with grains of sand, demanding more.

"Tomorrow," he promised to her quietly. "Tomorrow, your thirst shall be quenched." He gazed into the distance. Flashes of Ashera's army's golden armor glinted, drawing closer, the gaudiness (thankfully) hidden by the persistent sandstorm. Stefan snorted, knowing that the flimsy armor adorning the bodies of the fallen would wear away in months, years, centuries. If anything, his beloved desert was patient.

He rose swiftly and slid down the sand dune. Without gazing back at his future adversaries, he disappeared into the wind.


	27. 26 Triangle Attack

**Theme 26**: Triangle Attack, per request of Khlec-sul Renai (sorry, it only took me like, 2 years to respond)

**Characters/Setting:** Oscar, Rolf, Boyd, Ike, FE9

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still not mine

**A/N:** The "maneuver" bit Ike mentions refers to a base conversation about midway through FE9.

The green-haired brothers were up to something; Ike could feel it. Approaching the training yard quietly, he tried to observe their movements in secret. He must have made too loud of a noise at the edge of the training yard because the brothers pivoted and released their bowstrings with three simultaneous _twangs! _

Ike tried to turn and dodge out of the way, but the force of three arrows entering his right buttock was too much for him to remain upright. He fell to his hands and knees, the jaunty feathers of three arrows peppering his tail end.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Ike!" Rolf wailed, running up to where his commander was prostrated upon the ground. He made a noise of anxiety as the swordsman grimaced.

"We thought you were an enemy spy," Oscar murmured apologetically, dismounting and bending over to examine the damage they had done. If he was perturbed by his proximity to Ike's bottom, he made no signs. "Those went pretty deep."

"Maneuver. That was the word," Ike said, voice thick with pain.

It took the three brothers a minute to comprehend what Ike was talking about.

Only Boyd was not showing signs of sympathy, hiding a snicker behind his gloved hand. "Well, would you say it's an effective attack, Commander?"

Ike gritted his teeth at Boyd's smart aleck remark. "Very much so."

Oscar and Rolf shot Boyd looks of reproach.

"Boyd, you can be so mean!" Rolf reprimanded.

The axeman shrugged his shoulders casually. "What? I only wanted to know if our tactics are useful."

"It's okay, Commander. Boyd still has his special pillow for his broken tailbone from when he slipped on that patch of ice by mistake. I'm sure he wouldn't mind letting you use it," Oscar mentioned with a tone of sincerity and slight evil.

"You said you wouldn't tell anyone about that, Oscar!" Boyd protested, smirk melting off his face.

Even Ike chuckled at that mental image.


End file.
